


Forget

by confidence_in_sunshine



Series: I've been dancing with the devil, I love that he pretends to care [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 16:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16538465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confidence_in_sunshine/pseuds/confidence_in_sunshine
Summary: They say Zelda doesn’t have a heart. But she does. It’s covered in a multitude of scars, and even more wounds that refuse to heal. Because if there is anything that Zelda does well, that is malice. She never forgets, and she never forgives.





	Forget

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly inspired by the song 'Forget' by Marina and the Diamonds.

They think Hilda is the weak one, the one that brings us all down. She cares too much, she says too much and overall just is _too much_. They say if you want a love potion, go to Hilda. You want to torment someone and drive them to the brink of hell, you got to Zelda. That’s how it’s always been. The youngest Spellman was the weakest link, forever trying to cling to some semblance of humanity. Everyone always told her that she should be more like her sister. Told her she should harden up, learn to be a real witch. It had been hardest on Hilda when she’d been at the academy. Harrowing was normal, it wasn’t questioned. You certainly didn’t question it if you valued your own sanity.

The other students had teased, jeered and thoroughly tormented the youngest Spellman. Not caring for how much she cried or begged them to stop. The people that were supposed to be her peers had made her life at the academy a downright horror of an experience. But they hadn’t been the worst. The worst had been her own sister. Always at the front of the pack, Zelda would stand and watch. She wouldn’t laugh, like the others did - no, she’d simply watch with an eyebrow raised in challenge. It was nothing but a tool to erase the weak, to keep the garden growing only the most luscious of vines. You had to cut out the dead wood. It was for Him, it always was. Zelda had always been devout to the point of madness, never questioning and always obeying. It hadn’t mattered that Hilda was her little sister, she had to learn.

She kept score of every victory over her little sister, a stupid game with even more ridiculous rules. Or maybe the fact that there were none made it more idiotic. But she clung to it, because while Zelda was the oldest girl, she wasn't the oldest sibling. She was the middle child, forever compared to Edward and forever stuck with trying to make her baby sister less of an embarrassment to the Spellman name. Standing proud, she’d made a name for herself as a gifted midwife. Had made sure nobody ever doubted her word, and furthermore, the word of the Dark Lord. She had to be strong, to be made of steel. Because for her there was no other option. 

But sometimes, she thinks she isn’t that strong. The only thing that get’s her through is her devotion to the Dark Lord. The one ever burning flame that keeps Zelda going.

Those girls back at the academy that had helped torture Hilda had once woken up in the night with their mouths sewn shut and filled with salt. A penance, for their unruly laughter. For the way they had spoken about the Dark Lord and his will. It wasn’t dignified. They had not taken the gifts from the Dark Lord seriously, had not spoken about Him with the reverence He deserved. They’d been arrogant and flagrantly stupid, so Zelda had punished them for it. She told herself it was all for the Dark Lord, that it was in honour of him. Deep down she knew it was for Hilda. She was a Spellman after all, and she was Zelda’s sister - not theirs. It was her given right to torment her sister.

Another time, a few boys had decided to play a trick on Hilda, pretending to be enamoured with her until they cursed her and made a fool of her in front of half the school. Later that night Zelda had snuck into their dormitory, red hair hanging loose and lips painted to match, and she had smiled at them until their minds had become twisted up inside. Then she had laughed. Quietly and in the dark before sneaking back out. Those boys never picked on Hilda again.

In her bones Zelda knows she can be weak, and sometimes she fears that people will see. That they will know how she truly feels. It feels like her will is being tested, especially now. Nobody could have known how much a half witch could alter a life. Zelda had been unimpressed at first with the child, letting Hilda do most of the work. Her sister would coo and ah at the baby, smiling ear to ear. Zelda would fume behind her newspaper, not reading a word. The only reason Zelda deigned to help was due to her devotion to her brother and to the Dark Lord. To a promise she had helped seal in blood three days after the babe was born.

One day that had changed. Sabrina had been four, and the small child had come through the bedroom door while Zelda was getting dressed for the day. She’d been seated at her dresser, brushing her hair when Sabrina toddled up to her. Those big eyes had looked at Zelda in the mirror and the little girl had smiled shyly before sidling up to Zelda on the velvet ottoman. Nothing had been said, the girl just sat there quietly as she watched her aunt finish her hair before reaching for a pin.

“No, Auntie Z.”

Zelda paused and then turned to look at Sabrina, who just smiled and pointed at another hair pin. It twitched a moment and Sabrina giggled before it rose off the dresser table and sailed a little erratically towards Zelda.

“Thith one, Auntie Z,” said Sabrina, her voice lisping through a toothy grin.

Zelda had grabbed the hairpin out of the air and slid it gently into her hair.

“Your father gave me that when I was sixteen,” was all Zelda said.

The little girl nodded. “I know,” she said, “I felt it.”

A pause before Zelda remembers to breathe again. Maybe it wasn’t lost, maybe this child could be something great. Be what Edward wanted. Be something wonderful. From that day on, Sabrina always sat with Zelda when she got dressed in the morning. Watching the ritual with something akin to worship. Helping to pick out a shade of lipstick, and then carefully touching the jewels that Zelda would then place around her own neck. When Sabrina turned thirteen, it stopped. She’d said she was too old to be hanging around her aunts while they got ready. Zelda had heartily agreed and had said something cutting about her being too old three years ago. But inside, her heart had cracked just a little. She’s never felt this way before. Never wanted to protect someone so strongly. It’s a curse, Zelda believes, to feel so much for one single person.

When Sabrina asks about love, Zelda doesn’t know what to say. She knows she cares for Sabrina, but that’s not the kind of love her niece is asking about. She’s never been where Sabrina is. Never had to deal with such complicated emotions. This was something for Hilda to answer, not her. Zelda doesn’t know love, she knows lust and obsession. And maybe once upon a time she had thought those two things were love, but they weren’t. The first time it happened, Zelda had thought she’d become weak. That finally her wretched sister was rubbing off on her and her mind was unravelling. Or she had worried that her faith in the Dark Lord was not strong enough. Whatever it was, she’d become enraptured with a man. Edward had come home for dinner, and he’d brought a guest with him - his mentor, Faustus Blackwood. Her brother had introduced his two little sisters to his guest; Hilda smiling like a buffoon and stumbling over her words and Zelda simply standing still and smiling politely. It wasn’t until the man took her hand and lingered over the skin that Zelda felt her smile falter and her composure slip. The sound of Hilda nattering away over how marvellous Edward was and how proud they were had become distorted, as if she’d thrown herself into the river and sounds were struggling to be heard. He’d grinned like a tiger then, the candlelight glinting off those teeth and making Zelda crave the feel of them scraping against the inside of her thigh.

The evening had been entirely civilised, both sisters singing their praise for their older brother. And Faustus Blackwood had been the epitome of a perfect guests. His voice, like velvet, had soothed Zelda in a way she hadn’t thought possible. And she had desperately craved for the man to touch her again. Which had been terrible. Men had never mattered to Zelda, she taken them when she pleased and thought no more about it. But she craved this man’s attention, his adoration. Possibly because of his position but there was something else. A glint in the eye that suggested such depraved pleasure that she was like a moth to a flame. And Zelda had never minded getting burnt.

It had angered Zelda though, to have felt something so fierce for anyone other than the Dark Lord. It was true, he wasn’t just any man but a warlock held in high regard within the coven. But she had been disgusted with herself. She had blamed Hilda’s influence, and later that evening when their guests had left, she had pushed her down the stairs. The crack of Hilda’s neck breaking had been unholy satisfying and she had dragged her sister by her hair out into the dark and through the Spellman grounds. Still seething, she’d hissed menacingly at the heaped pile of earth, asking why this was happening. She had stayed outside, the smell of dirt and decay filling her nose as the wind howled. When her throat had become ragged from cursing her sister, she'd gone back to the house.

When Hilda finally emerges from the dead, and stumbles back to the house, Zelda is composed once more. Months go by and Zelda wonders whether it was just a strange fit of some sorts. A silly girlish episode - it had to happen at least once she told herself. But then they go and visit Edward at the Academy. He’s creating waves within the coven, charming people and making little changes here and there. It gives Zelda a sense of pride unlike no other, that her brother is the one all these witches crave to listen to and the name of Spellman is something to be held in high regard. Hilda is proud but quiet, and Zelda knows that being in those pentagonal rooms of the Academy of Unseen Arts once more brings about bad memories. But Zelda is happy to be back and relishes exploring the academy once more. Finds comfort in the statue of the Dark Lord in the middle of the academy. It’s not until darkness has fallen and Zelda is asked to join Faustus Blackwood in his office that she feels uncertain again. That the feelings come back. But she’s prepared for it this time when she knocks politely on the door. There’s the glow of candles and the burning flames of a fire. It’s warm and welcoming and the man behind the desk smiles serenely before asking her to sit. Back straight and ankles crossed demurely as she sits in one of the two chairs in front of the large wooden desk. She politely bids him good evening and enquires as to what he wanted to see her about.

“Family,” he says, with another serene smile. “Edward is very proud of his family, Miss Spellman.”

A flicker of a smile tugs at her lips at that, but she remains poised. Not wanting to cause any doubt on the family name. He continues to speak and Zelda simply listens, enthralled by the words he uses and the conviction in his voice. This man was devoted to the Church of Night and he speaks of the Dark Lord with nothing less than utter devotion. Which is something that resonates within her, that deep desire to serve His will. As he speaks, his words becoming more passionate, he comes out from behind the desk and to lean against it in front of her. And if Zelda didn’t have the iron will she prided herself on, she would have fallen out of her seat then and there and worshipped him like no other. And perhaps he sees that in her face, for he pauses in his passionate talk of the Dark Lord to look at her. And the grin he sends her is the same one from that first night at the Spellman home. The shudder that slides down her spine is not something she can control and she closes her eyes in embarrassment. But there’s a hand cupping her cheek and when she opens them he’s right there. The air is thick and Zelda can’t breathe for it. But all he does is place a kiss on her forehead - and she wonders if his lips lingered for longer than they should have - before he bids her goodnight and sends her home. Hilda just talks as they head home, all chatty once more they are outside of the academy and so filled with happiness after seeing their brother. Zelda is quiet and her nails are digging into the palm of her hand. There will be cuts she knows, but she doesn’t care. She relishes the feel of it as the nail dig into her skin, leaving crescent shaped welts. It’s punishment for the way she feels. Foolishness isn’t something she is used to, it’s always been something Hilda has excelled at.

When they’re home she hits Hilda hard over the head with a frying pan. She’s breathing hard and wants to scream, but she doesn’t. She just drags Hilda outside and chucks her in the grave. Zelda doesn’t stay outside this time, instead she goes inside and goes straight for the decanter in the parlour, downing a glass in one large gulp. The alcohol burns all the way down her throat and settles with the fire in her stomach. The dress she’s wearing feels too tight and so she pulls it off, throwing it in the corner somewhere. Within moments she's summoned candles and they blaze in a circle around her before Zelda gets on her knees and prays. She whispers fiercely to the Dark Lord, and her hands are clasped tightly, this time her nails bite into the soft skin between her knuckles. She feels empty, her body craving release. She won’t give it to herself, because she knows it wouldn’t be right. Even though it would be so easy to slide her hands up her own thighs, pretending they were the hands of Faustus Blackwood. It would be so easy to let those hands take off the rest of her clothing, to unhook garters and peel away stockings. It’s a test of faith, it has to be. His unholiness is simply testing her will. And she isn’t weak, she tells herself, she’s not the one dead in the ground. Zelda doesn’t know she is watched, that in the shadows a pair of lips curve into a smile and sharp teeth glint in the low flickering candlelight.

The witch stands and put hers dress back on, fixes her hair and makeup before leaving the parlour. She’s made of steel and the force within that pushes her on will keep her strong. In a few hours she’ll brew some tea for Hilda and leave it on the kitchen stove for when her sister returns from the dead. And Zelda won’t say why she killed her, because Hilda wouldn’t understand how much her devotion to the Dark Lord means. How much this infatuation tears at her.

She wants to forget the feeling, but at the same she will relish in it. Let it make her stronger. The feelings will build and she will eventually control them. It will be a dedication to the Dark Lord, her strength of will.

They say Zelda doesn’t have a heart. But she does. It’s covered in a multitude of scars, and even more wounds that refuse to heal. Because if there is anything that Zelda does well, that is malice. She never forgets, and she never forgives.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to read more, do let me know! This is my first AO3 story, I usually write Sound of Music fanfic so this is a little different to my norm, ha.


End file.
